


I Am Not Afraid

by LadyEnterprise1701



Series: I Am Not Afraid [5]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Because everybody deserved better, Episode Fix-it, Episode: s03e12 Plato's Stepchildren, F/M, and clearly the writers were absolutely incompetent by not tying up these loose ends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 18:20:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9337373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyEnterprise1701/pseuds/LadyEnterprise1701
Summary: The Platonians forced four capable, self-controlled Starfleet officers into the most compromising situation of their careers. Now it's up to those same officers to make sure the devastating aftermath doesn't destroy them all.





	1. Broken Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Very slightly altered from the original version posted on fanfiction(dot)net. This was the first Kirk/Uhura story I ever wrote, so I'm trying to maintain continuity with the pre-"Plato's Stepchildren" stories I've written since then.

 

The stunned faces of the Platonians were the last things Nyota Uhura saw before everything dissolved in the golden shimmer of a transporter beam. In that eery, seconds-long dimension between dematerialization and reformation, the only real, tangible things were her own thoughts—and they whirled in a mass of anger, horror, and shame that would’ve given a Vulcan a conniption. 

_How dare they? Oh God, how dare they?! And they’re just getting off scott-free! “We are existing merely to nourish our own power—It’s time for some fresh air.” Well let me tell you something, mister: it’s about time you all stood trial for—for mind rape! That’s what you’ve done and you’ve ruined everything and oh God I can’t stand this…_

The smooth grey walls of the Enterprise’s transporter room solidified around her, and with it the return of her physical senses. Her heart still pounded, but whether that was from the lingering terror of that whip snapping inches away from her face or the thrill of having been kissed more fiercely than she’d ever been kissed in her whole life, she didn’t know. She didn’t want to know. As soon as the last tingle of rematerialization wore off she sucked in great lungfuls of starship air. It smelled better to her than the potpourri-sodden air down on Platonius. 

The Enterprise could smell like a sewer and she’d _still_ prefer it over Platonius. 

“Captain!”

The gasp mangled Lieutenant Kyle’s cultured British accent. Nyota’s gaze darted to where he stood behind the transporter console in his neat red uniform; all the blood rushed to her face when she suddenly realized that although he’d addressed the captain, he was staring at her…and just behind her, Christine Chapel. 

And boy, he was staring with all his eyes. 

“Eyes down, Mister,” Captain Kirk snapped on Nyota’s right. “And you keep them down until Nurse Chapel and Lieutenant Uhura leave this room or I’ll see you in my quarters for a good long talk.”

Poor Kyle. He snapped his mouth shut and fixed his eyes on the console like his life depended on it. Nyota couldn’t bear to look directly at the captain. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him turn towards her—still dressed in that horrible excuse for a toga—but she ducked her head, grabbed her flimsy lavender skirt in both hands, and hurried down the transporter steps. 

“Uhura, wait…”

 _I can’t, Captain, I’m sorry, I can’t!_

Her vision blurred and she squeezed her eyes shut as the doors hissed open for her. The quick, light footsteps behind her definitely didn’t belong to the captain. Nyota didn’t have to look over her shoulder to know it was Christine, just as desperate to escape as she was. Maybe more so. Because at least Captain Kirk hadn’t known how she, Nyota, felt, at least not until that witch Philana told them exactly why she’d chosen Nyota for that…“role.” 

Mr. Spock knew all too well how Christine felt. 

_“We sensed a deep bond between the Vulcan and the nurse…and between the captain and his lieutenant. Deep but…suppressed bonds. Wouldn’t it be entertaining to see how the pairs would react to certain stimuli?”_

Nyota shuddered at the memory of the scathing mockery in Philana’s tone. She had wanted to crawl in a hole somewhere and die. Now she thought the idea of smashing Philana’s head with a cast iron skillet was a much more satisfying solution. A phaser bolt was too good for her. 

_And now we’re the ones left with all the broken pieces._

If anybody gaped at her in that sheer, revealing gown—or at Chris, whose Vulcanesque make-up was downright nightmarish—Nyota didn’t pay attention. She kept her head and her eyes down and gripped her skirt with both hands. She catapulted into the nearest turbolift with Christine still on her heels; as soon as the doors shut behind them she threw her head back. 

“Deck Five,” she gasped, “and don’t stop for any other passengers!” 

“Acknowledged,” the computer intoned. The turbolift began to move. Nyota slumped against the wall and dared to look at Christine. She immediately wished she hadn’t. Tears streaked her friend’s paper-white face, and with the hand not gripping the turbolift handle Christine rubbed and scraped at the pencilled-in, slanted eyebrows. Choked sobs burst from her clamped lips like hiccups she couldn’t suppress. 

_How do you put together a bunch of broken pieces?_

“Don’t, Chris,” Nyota whispered. Her throat felt clogged with her own tears— _but I’m not going to cry in here, I’M NOT._ “You’re only scratching yourself. Wait until you can wash it off.”

“But I’ll never be able to wash it _out_!” Christine gasped. She pressed her palm to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh Ny…what have I done to him?”

She broke down into real, shoulder-wracking sobs. The turbolift doors opened. Nyota jerked herself to attention, prepared to shield Christine from anymore bulging, inconsiderate eyes, but the corridor was empty. Most of the ship’s senior officers were on duty in the middle of the afternoon, anyway. Christine didn’t even seem to notice the open doors. 

_You can cry once you’re by yourself, in your own rooms,_ Nyota told herself. _Right now you’ve got to get Christine to her cabin. That’s your priority. You are the superior officer in this situation. Do what he would do. Take care of your subordinate first and yourself last._

She drew a shuddering breath and slid an arm around Christine’s slender waist, leading her out of the turbolift with soothing whispers. Christine leaned on her until she realized Nyota   
struggled under her weight; then she sniffled and drew herself up to her full, impressive height, wiping her eyes and smearing the glittery eye shadow all over her face. 

“I’m all right, Ny,” she said in a ragged whisper. “You’d better go to your own cabin before someone sees you.”

Nyota looked up at her worriedly. “Are you sure you’re all right?” 

Christine lowered her hands from her face and looked at Nyota with a tortured expression that seemed to say, _No, but there’s nothing either of us can do about it._ Nyota stared back…then pressed her lips together and nodded with a hard swallow. It didn’t help the burning in her throat, but at least it helped her brace herself for a nod and a turning-away. 

_I don’t want to leave her. But she needs to be by herself…and I need to pull myself together. I can do that better if I don’t have to watch her and remember what she and Spock looked like down there…_

Nyota started walking faster at the unwanted memory and ended up running the last few feet to her own cabin. She stabbed at the door code with shaking fingers and plunged inside as soon as the doors hissed open.

The cozy room, decorated in her favorite purple and full of familiar objects—the Vulcan harp Mr. Spock gave her for her last birthday, the mahogany box with her mother’s jewelry, the cute little stuffed lion her five-year-old niece thrust into her arms right before Nyota left Earth—seemed ready to envelop her in a warm hug. For a moment she stood frozen in the middle of the room, wanting nothing more than to throw herself onto the bed, bury her face in the pillow, and cry her eyes out. 

But then she saw her own reflection in the same mirror where she’d seen Captain Kirk during the Tholian incident only a week ago. The sight filled her with such revulsion that her stomach threatened to rid itself of whatever remained of her last, long-ago meal.

The makeup was just as garish as Christine’s, just without the obvious Vulcan eyebrows. The eyeshadow stretched all the way to her temples. Whatever they’d done to her hair with all those extensions, it was hideous. And the dress—

She jerked the whole thing over her head in one swift, tearing motion and fled to the ‘fresher, ripping the silver combs and the extensions out of her hair as she jumped into the shower. She scrubbed her face with a washcloth so vigorously, her skin stung when she rinsed it. She scraped her scalp with her fingernails, trying to get that noxious perfume out of her hair. 

And then, when she stepped out of the shower with nothing but a towel wrapped around herself, she brushed her teeth twice. 

_I’ll never be clean I’ll never be clean I’ll never be clean…_

_All those times I’ve heard his voice—I meant that._

_But I lied, too. I was absolutely terrified. They could have made us do anything if they’d really wanted to…_

_I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again!_

At that thought Nyota gripped the sides of the sink and burst into groaning, wracking sobs no less tortured than Christine’s had been. She’d been on this ship for three years—three years of adventure and camaraderie, the occasional tragedy, the undeniable _fun_. Three years of fulfillment, of belonging, of earning the right to advise and gently tease and encourage all those men on the bridge, from Captain Kirk himself to young Pavel Chekov who looked up to her as an older, wiser sister. 

She _did_ have feelings for her captain. She’d known for a long time that she did—but she had kept a tight lid on them and she was _proud_ of it. No one else should’ve ever had any inkling. Maybe Christine did but no one else—not Sulu, not Chekov…hopefully not Mr. Spock…surely not Captain Kirk.

_But I know him like the back of my hand. I’d follow him to hell and back if he asked me to—and now…oh no, I can’t leave him, don’t make them make me leave him…_

She cried herself out until she slumped over the sink, gasping for breath and exhausted. When she lifted her head and looked at herself in the mirror her dark eyes were red and bleary and looking bigger than ever in her clean but haggard face. She sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. When the intercom buzzed, it scared her so badly that she jumped. 

“Uhura—” She stopped, cleared her throat. She sounded like a sick bullfrog. “Uhura here.”

_“Dr. McCoy here. You doin’ all right, Lieutenant?”_

She leaned her head and shoulder against the wall. “I’ll be all right, Doctor. I’m just...tired.” 

_“I know. And you’re on sick leave for the rest of the day…you and Christine Chapel both. The captain’s cleared it and you’re relieved from all duties until 0900 tomorrow morning. You just take it easy, you hear?”_

The quiet understanding in his usually-acerbic Georgia drawl left her squeezing her eyes shut to keep back more tears. He knew. He’d seen all of it and knew she and Christine would rather die than face anyone today…and the captain had agreed. 

_Thank you, Jim. Thank you._

“Thank you, Doctor,” she murmured. “I appreciate it.”


	2. Doctor's Orders

“And that’s that,” Bones said, clicking off the intercom. Jim Kirk heard the click rather than saw it; he had his head in his hands and wasn’t interested in looking his CMO in the eye at the moment. “I’d prescribe the same for you, but I know you won’t hear of it unless I strap you down and give you a sedative.”

Jim lifted his head, only to drop his chin in one hand and fix his eyes on the blank grey wall opposite the biobed. He sat on its edge, just enough so that it still picked up his body readings. Since Spock had flat-out refused to come to Sickbay, Bones had selected him to be his kironide guinea pig. It wasn’t much fun, but at least it gave him an excuse to stay here where no one would ask any tiresome questions about why the captain of the Enterprise had beamed aboard in full Grecian costume. 

“How’s your head?”

“It hurts,” Jim muttered. “What’s in that antidote, anyway?”

“It’s just somatotropin. Growth hormone.”

“ _What?!_ ”

Bones gave him a sharp look. “Don’t give yourself a stroke. It doesn’t cause further growth in adults, it just regulates the metabolism. It’ll absorb the kironide in an hour or so and you’ll be back to normal. Which’ll be nice. Not sure I want to serve under a captain who can control his ship without so much as lookin’ at helm or navigation.” 

The attempt at wry humor wasn’t lost on Jim. In spite of himself he actually smiled—faintly, but it was there. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Not sure how much I like the idea of a telepathic Vulcan being able to do the same thing. You say I’ll be back to normal in an hour or so?”

“Quicker, if you sit still and let the antidote do its work instead of running around here pumping adrenaline. After that, I’ll need you to drag Spock in here.”

“Easier said than done,” Jim said softly. “As violated as we feel…what must _he_ be feeling?”

"Nothin'. Vulcans don’t feel.”

Jim shot him a sharp look. “After what you saw down there, do you really think that’s true?”

Bones said nothing. He lowered himself into a seat opposite the biobed, his eyes on the floor, his jaw set. His silence said more than he might’ve liked to admit…and he looked tired. Jim stood up; the biobed stopped humming in unison with his heartbeat. 

“The Platonians may have caused us more damage than anything else that’s happened on this whole voyage,” he said, more to himself than to his friend. “There’s nothing worse than feeling totally _helpless_. I’ve felt it before but never so…intensely…as I did today.”

“You should’ve left me when I told you to,” Bones grumbled. 

Jim stopped pacing and glared at him. “If you think I would ever have left you behind, Bones, you’re insane. I need you too much to leave you behind with that pack of… _narcissistic sadists._ The universe would be a better place if they didn’t even exist.”

Bones said nothing and flicked at some nonexistent fuzz on his pants. Jim didn’t expect a reply; he didn’t particularly want one at the moment. As passionate and occasionally vitriolic as Leonard McCoy could get, Jim had never heard him really wish death on anybody. Not even on Parmen and his repulsive following. Jim half-expected the doctor to scold him about that comment and go on about the right of every sentient being to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. 

_And what about when those sentient beings deprive others of those things?_ Jim wanted to demand—very loudly. _What do they deserve after they’ve rattled my first officer to the core and possibly ruined my relationship with the finest woman on this ship? After they’ve threatened my ship, not to mention my oldest friend?_

It was one thing to endure torture himself. He could take that. But to watch Parmen and Philana bend Spock to their will…and then drag Uhura and Chapel into it…

 _Uhura._ Jim’s chest tightened in anger and grief at the memory of her writhing in his arms, trying desperately to keep her face away from his. He’d even tried to push her away, but it had been like fighting oppressive Orion gravity: it only wore him out until his muscles quivered with exhaustion and he had no choice but to give in. The whole thing was sick and twisted. He could’ve killed Philana for it. 

“And now,” he murmured under his breath. “What do we do with the ashes?”

Bones looked up. “You want a pithy inspirational reply better suited to a greeting card?”

In spite of himself, Jim smirked. “I’ll take whatever I can get at this point.”

“Okay.” Bones leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “They used to say the phoenix rose up out of the ashes…”  

Jim pulled an incredulous face. “Your greeting cards need work, Bones.”

The doctor grinned tiredly. “Well, you get my point.”

“Yes, but your phoenix had better get a move-on.” Jim jerked his head in the general direction of the rest of the ship, his expression grave again. “I can’t afford to break up my team right now. This mission will be over in a year and God knows what else we’ll come against between now and heading home. I need Spock, and I need Uhura, and I need them performing at top capacity. The Platonians have just…” 

He hesitated, flung out his hands in frustration. Bones raised an eyebrow.

“You’re worried about Uhura.”

Jim had a feeling the anguish showed on his face. “They had no reason to bring her and Nurse Chapel there other than to torment me and Spock. Of course I’m worried about both of them, but Uhura…Uhura is bridge crew—valuable bridge crew. I can’t lose her, Bones.”

“You think you _would_ lose her?”

Jim said nothing, only stared at his friend in utter despondence while his mind raced back to a certain female subordinate of his who’d once demanded a transfer after declaring her feelings for him in a moment of terror and heartbreak. Uhura had all but done the same thing, albeit in a much more mature and heartfelt fashion. Something told Jim she’d transfer in a heartbeat if she thought it would make his life easier after that kind of confession. 

And yet as much as he had needed Janice Rand to take that irrevocable step out of his life, he suddenly realized he couldn’t bear the thought of losing Uhura…of never seeing her again, or hearing her soft voice and her laugh…or simply knowing she was sitting right behind him, hard at work, her finger always on the pulse of the bridge. 

Bones must’ve read all that in Jim’s face because he suddenly raised both eyebrows and, tired as he was, shot to his feet. 

“You want some advice from someone who’s talked with Lieutenant Uhura on a more personal level than you’ve ever allowed yourself to do?” he snapped. “She trusts you completely. We all do, of course, but Uhura’s been with you since day one. She knows you like the back of her hand. I’ve watched her. She knows what you need before you even ask it, she knows just what to say to calm your nerves when you need it, she thinks the world of you—!”

“And now she’ll never get within five feet of me again,” Jim murmured. 

“Hogwash!” Bones clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Lieutenant Uhura is a lot of things, Jim, but one thing she’s not is an idiot. She knows you didn’t have a choice. And you heard how she told you she wasn’t afraid. Oh, she was scared of what Parmen and his wife might make you do, but of James Kirk himself? I don’t think she was scared of you at all.”

Jim peered at him through slightly-narrowed eyes. “I’m still waiting for the advice.”

Bones gestured towards the door. “Go make things right with her. Maybe not at this moment, but no later than tomorrow morning, before she gets to the bridge. If you need her on your side so bad, then you need to make sure you both trust each other enough to move on.”

Jim still said nothing, but he lowered his gaze and nodded slowly. Bones seemed satisfied; he jerked open a drawer and threw a command-gold tunic at him. Jim caught it before it could smack him in the head. 

“Put that on over that old t-shirt,” Bones said, sounding more tired and yet more relaxed than he had since they beamed back to the ship.“And if you can use any of your ‘captain’s influence   
and prerogative,’ get Spock in here ASAP. He needs the Vulcan equivalent of somatotropin even more than you do.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Jim said, pulling the tunic over his head. “I don’t want to pull rank on him, but I will if I have to.”

Bones raised an eyebrow; it was a worried expression, not a sarcastic one. “If anyone’ll get to him after something like this, it’s you. He won’t listen to me if I tell him to get his butt down here to Sickbay, but he’ll go to the Neutral Zone and back for you.”

“Literally,” Jim murmured, remembering a certain Romulan commander. “Any other advice for me?”

Bones thought a moment. Jim half-expected him to say _no_ ; he was surprised when the doctor suddenly raised his head and looked him straight in the eye. 

“You know, this may sound crazy…but when we thought you were dead out there in Tholian space, that woman _wept_. I saw her crying at Spock’s…well, his service, speech, whatever you wanna call it…his bedside manners aren’t award-winning. And then when we realized she wasn’t out of her head and you really were alive, she cried again.”

Jim stared at him. Today was the first time he’d seen Nyota Uhura cry in a long time. Shame and horror had been written all over her beautiful face and he’d wanted nothing more than to break their forced embrace and use his hands to wipe her tears away instead… _but she had cried when she thought he was dead?_ That had been only a week ago. If Bones was right then she’d spent an awful lot of time recently in tears…over _him._

_Why are you so shocked? You’d be torn apart if anything happened to her. You don’t think she just might feel the same way after working this close to you for over three years? It wouldn’t be an arrogant assumption—just an honest one._

_Uhura, though. Does she really…_

_No. No, surely she doesn’t._

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked aloud, very slowly and very carefully. 

Bones lifted both eyebrows this time. “Because she loves you.”

Jim looked away. 

“I’m not gonna try to guess in what way or if she even realizes it,” Bones added, “but I know she’s with you through thick and thin. She just needs to hear you say that you’re with her in the same way.”

“And Christine needs to hear the same from Spock,” Jim murmured. 

“Well, that’ll happen when pigs fly,” Bones muttered. “But if he could at least let her know he doesn’t hold it against her, it’d do for her what a good hug would do for Uhura.”

Jim nodded a little absently. “I understand. I’ll try to tell him that…and get him to Sickbay.”

Bones snorted. “If you can do both, then Scotty’s not the only miracle worker on this ship.”


	3. Logical Introspection

The ancient Vulcan firepot cast its familiar red light and accompanying shadows over the austere sleeping compartment that most crewmembers would think a poor excuse for the First Officer’s bedroom. Not that the room was tiny—it was actually the same size as the captain’s—but its contents were limited to the fearsome sculpture of a Vulcan mythological creature, a delicate, polished lute on its stand, and a piece of furniture that resembled a stone table more than a bed. 

Vulcans were not creatures of comfort. And at this particular moment, Spock would have recoiled at anything that smacked of luxury. 

He lay flat on his back on the stone, his head kept level with the rest of his long, lanky frame inside the curved headrest, his fingers laced over his chest. He’d been concentrating on his breathing, refusing to think of anything else until that had regulated, ever since he returned from Platonius. 

Or at least, he’d been concentrating on that ever since he slammed his repulsive costume into the incinerator chute with such violence, he feared he might have damaged its swinging door. 

_I will have to ask maintenance to see to it. But not now…not today._

_They turned her into a Vulcan. Why? To tempt me? Or simply to torment us both over what they described as our “deep but suppressed bond?”_

_Are my thoughts regarding Nurse Chapel so substantial?_

_Very perceptive, the Platonians. Uncontrolled telepaths. An accurate picture of what Vulcans would be like if we were not restrained by the principles of logic…_

The door buzzed. Spock lifted his head, propped himself up on his elbows. 

“Come.”

The doors slid open at his voice command and the captain stepped in. Spock moved to sit up, but Jim Kirk raised a hand to stop him. 

“At ease, Spock,” he said quietly, almost gently. 

Spock raised an eyebrow and finished the movement until he sat straight up on the edge of the bed. “It is against all rules of appropriate conduct for a subordinate to remain in a posture of repose in his commander’s presence. Even in his own quarters.”

Jim smiled faintly. “Glad to hear you sounding like yourself again.”

Inwardly Spock winced; outwardly he simply raised his other eyebrow. “I did not discern any difference in my voice over the past twenty-four hou—”

“Never mind, Spock.” Jim paused, looked hard at him. “Will you be able to man your station on the bridge tomorrow?”

Spock rubbed his palms on his knees. “Of course. I haven’t been…debilitated.”

Jim cocked his head to one side, his eyes narrowing. “Spock, what they did to us amounts to mind rape. Now that’d be hard enough on humans. On a Vulcan…”

If that had come from anyone else Spock would’ve been offended, while knowing quite well he wasn’t supposed to be and trying, therefore, to suppress it. From James Kirk, however, it was an expression of legitimate concern—and sensitivity. So Spock looked up, met those frank hazel eyes, and gave his head one quick, affirming, honest nod. 

“It would be illogical to deny that I have been considerably disturbed by what happened.”

Jim’s smile flickered again. “Good.”

“Good?” Spock repeated, a little shocked. _Why would he consider that a good thing?_

“If you’d pretended like it didn’t bother you at all I’d be more worried,” Jim said.

“I see. Honesty, as one of your Earth philosophers would say, is the best policy.”

Jim leaned one shoulder against the wall that partitioned Spock’s office from his bedroom and slipped his hands into his pockets. “Dr. McCoy gave me a hormone stimulant that’ll counteract and absorb the kironide. He has a similar treatment for you and needs you down at Sickbay.” 

Spock lowered his eyes to the floor just in front of his feet. “You will forgive me if I don’t look forward to his well-aimed sarcasm at this particular moment.” 

“He won’t say a word. He understands as much as I do.”

“He will mock me for my…weakness.”

“Spock. He didn’t mock you on Platonius and he won’t mock you now.” Spock heard the captain sigh. “If there’s anything he might give you grief about, it’ll be how you treat Nurse Chapel the next time you see her. And that—”

He stopped, for Spock had lifted his head and couldn’t suppress the icy look plastering itself all over his face. Jim shut his mouth but his gaze didn’t waver; he looked straight at Spock with such a determined expression that the Vulcan knew that whatever he was about to say, he would not budge on it. 

“I don’t pretend to know how or what you…think of her,” Jim said, obviously taking care not to use the word _feel_. “But I do know she’s as important a part of my crew as any of the bridge crew. The woman could run Sickbay if she had to. I need you to let her know you don’t think any the less of her. Her self-esteem isn’t the strongest. Just a simple word from you would do wonders.”

Spock was silent. He let his mind return to the Platonians’ morbid theater, albeit at a distance; keeping his emotions in rigid check and the memory only vivid enough to be coldly accurate, he recalled the mortified look in Christine Chapel’s face when the Platonians finally broke their kiss. She’d said she wanted to die. Much to his alarm, she hadn’t looked as if that were just another illogical human exaggeration. 

“I’m not asking for a long, drawn-out conversation,” Jim said. “Just don’t avoid her.”

Spock straightened his shoulders. “I will certainly make the attempt. May I ask if you intend to do the same with Lieutenant Uhura?”

It was an honest question, and thankfully, the captain took it as such. He raised his eyebrows and rubbed the back of his neck with a half-sheepish, half-anxious sigh. 

“I’m on my way to her cabin right now. But whether she’ll let me in…”

“Perhaps you would rather I spoke to her first.”

Jim shook his head and moved to leave. “No. It won’t do me any good trying to convince her that everything’s all right between us if I send a middle man…anymore than Christine would be convinced if I tried to do the same for you. No, the Platonians have thrown everything into confusion and it’s up to the two of us to set things right.”

“Jim.”

The captain stopped; he always did when Spock used his given name. Spock got to his feet and the two men faced each other for a moment in intense silence.

“They chose Lieutenant Uhura and Nurse Chapel for a very specific reason,” Spock said.

Something flickered in Jim’s eyes…uncertainty, perhaps, or maybe remorse. “I know.”

“The Platonians indicated there were suppressed emotions between you and the lieutenant as well as between myself and the nurse.” 

“Are you asking me if it’s true on my end?”

Spock shook his head. “I would never ask you to confirm or deny anything regarding your private emotions unless it endangered the well-being of this ship. But as for myself…”

He broke off, suddenly unable to explain what he was thinking. Jim’s expression softened and he turned away from the door so he could face his first officer head-on. 

“You know, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you admitted you…appreciate her.”

Spock narrowed his eyes. “Appreciate?”

Jim shrugged with far too much innocence for it to be genuine. “Don’t you?”

 _Do I?_ Spock wondered. 

_She is a very capable nurse, and as the captain said, vital to this ship._

_But she is also kind…with a calm and reserve better suited to that of a Vulcan woman…_

“May I answer that query with another?” he asked aloud.

“Of course.” 

“Do _you_ appreciate Lieutenant Uhura?”

Jim blinked and said nothing, but the color rushed to his face with suspicious speed and vividness. Spock raised his eyebrows this time, sensing the same satisfaction he often had at the end of a chess game. Checkmate. As for the captain, he drew in a breath and raised his eyebrows in the same resigned, fine-you-win sort of expression he often had at the end of the aforementioned chess match. 

“Make your way to Sickbay, Spock,” he said, his voice wry. “Neither of us need to be walking around the Enterprise with telekinetic abilities.”

“As you wish, Captain.” 

The door hissed behind Jim; Spock noted that he’d turned left, in the direction of Uhura’s cabin. Spock stood silently for a moment, thinking…then lifted his eyes to the datapadd lying on his desk where he left it last night before they beamed down to Platonius. He cocked his head to one side with a curious expression, then focused his gaze on it. 

It took only a few seconds’ concentration. The datapadd shifted, then lifted clear off the desk and flew in his direction. Vulcan reflexes kicked in: Spock threw his hand up and the datapadd smacked hard against his palm. He closed his fingers around it and turned it over, one eyebrow climbing upward with interest and maybe even a little genuine amusement. 

“Fascinating,” he murmured.


	4. Healthy Communication

Nyota wrapped both hands around a steaming mug of hot chocolate and lowered herself into the chair in front of her computer desk. For a moment she just sat there, her head slightly tilted downward, glaring at the blank, silent computer screen under her furrowed eyebrows. 

Then she caught sight of her own reflection in the screen and raised an eyebrow in self-deprecating amusement. Her mother used to say that she, Nyota, looked like she wanted to commit murder whenever she concentrated on something. Unsurprisingly, the rest of the bridge crew had noticed it over time. Sulu jokingly called it “The Death Glare,” as if Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock didn’t have “death glares” of their own. 

Of course, Sulu and Chekov had been on the receiving end of Nyota’s whenever their chattering at the helm interfered with her trying to listen to difficult transmissions, so he was probably more familiar with hers. 

Nyota smiled tiredly and leaned back in her chair. What I wouldn’t give to talk to Sulu right now. She glanced at the chronometer on the shelf behind her bed. It was only 1800 hours; Sulu wouldn’t leave the bridge until 1900. 

_Besides, Sulu can’t—or shouldn’t—help me with what I need to do. This needs to be all me. He might try to talk me out of it and then I’d lose my nerve…because this is hard._

_I don’t want to do it._

She pursed her lips, then leaned forward and set the mug on the desk. She might not want to do it, but she _had_ to do it. 

_And I may not need to turn it in anyway. I’m just preparing myself. But if I get to the bridge tomorrow morning and it’s clear that I need to turn it in…_

“Computer,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “Pull up Starfleet Forms for Starship Personnel.”

The computer screen flared to life and the Enterprise’s main system spoke in its female monotone. “Select form.”

“Transfer request.”

The computer clicked; the form appeared on the screen in less than five seconds. Nyota scooted the chair closer with her bare feet, poised her fingers above the keyboard—

The door buzzed. She jerked her hands away as if the keyboard had burned her and gripped the arms of the chair instead. 

“Who is it?” she called. 

“It’s the captain. Lieutenant, there’s something I need to discuss with you…”

 _Oh no._ Nyota looked around the room in a panic. At least her cabin looked decent—but the lavendar gown still lay a heap near the ‘fresher door, and she wore only a simple sleeveless shirt and a pair of close-fitting trousers. The thought raced through her mind that Captain Kirk had seen her in far less clothing before this—her “uniform” aboard the evil, alternate Enterprise came to mind—but she grabbed a long, shapeless sweater out of her chest of drawers and jerked it over her head, anyway. 

“Half a moment, sir,” she called, snatching up the Platonian dress and tossing it under the bed. 

“If now isn’t a good time—”

She stole a glance at the nearest mirror. Her loose hair had started to revert to its natural curly state; her clean face, still a little puffy from crying, looked like it belonged to a twelve-year-old without makeup. There was no help for either. She folded one arm tightly over her stomach and touched the door controls with her other hand. 

The door slid open; Captain Kirk, back in his usual uniform, bolted upright so his left shoulder no longer leaned against the wall. Nyota wasn’t fooled by the way he threw his shoulders back. She could tell just by his eyes that he was exhausted. She hadn’t worked with him for four years and learned nothing. 

“Lieutenant Uhura,” he said, with a quiet nod. 

Nyota released the breath she’d bene holding and gestured into the room. “Come in, sir.”

He hesitated only a second, and then the door hissed shut behind him. She rubbed her elbows, grateful for the robe’s loose, silky sleeves; she didn’t want him seeing her bare arms again any time soon. 

“Can I get you something to eat or drink, sir?”

He blinked, surprised. “To tell the truth, I hadn’t planned on staying that long…”

A sudden warmth and affection for him rushed through Nyota. He didn’t want to bother her or make this more uncomfortable than it had to be, and that in itself put her at ease. She found herself smiling gently up at him as she touched his arm. 

“Do you know what Nurse Chapel always tells me when I’m feeling low, Captain?”

He relaxed at the playful confidentiality of her tone. “I can’t imagine.”

“Just this. ‘Chocolate doesn’t ask questions. Chocolate understands.’ ”

Captain Kirk suddenly looked like he might laugh out loud. “I wouldn’t have thought with Nurse Chapel’s figure—”

Nyota rolled her eyes. “Nurse Chapel has the metabolism of a Vulcan and the height to spare. Whereas I…” She lifted her mug from the desk with a meaningful lift of her own eyebrows. “Whereas _I_ don’t particularly care about my figure when I’m in desperate need of understanding companions.”

“Well, if it’s that solid a cure, I think I’ll have one.”

She nodded. “One hot chocolate, coming right up. Make yourself comfortable, sir. No need for you to stand the whole time.”

She moved to the food synthesizer, on the same wall as the ‘fresher door; even though she had her back to him, she could hear him settling down on the settee across from her desk. Her heart fluttered in sheer relief. _Maybe this isn’t going to be so awful after all._ When she came back with a fresh mug he had his elbows on his knees, rubbing his palms together. 

“Here,” she said. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you,” he murmured. She returned to her seat in front of the computer and for several moments they sipped in silence. Captain Kirk leaned back against the settee and looked into the   
milky-brown drink with obvious satisfaction. 

“Dr. McCoy would have my head on a platter if he knew I was drinking this.”

"Don't worry. After all...we're both good at keeping secrets." 

Captain Kirk smiled. It had been a private joke of theirs ever since she wandered into his cabin one night a couple of years ago, while she was recovering from Nomad's attack*. Feeling braver, she leaned forward. “Sir? How is the dwarf, Alexander?”

“Oh, he’s fine. Last I heard, Chekov was giving him a tour of the ship. He’s a good little fellow. I think he’ll find his place aboard the Enterprise very quickly.”

“And Mr. Spock…is he all right?”

Captain Kirk nodded, lowered his cup. “I came straight here from seeing him. He’s fine…and he’ll be better, I think, once he gets back to work. You know how he is.”

 _I know how you both are,_ she wanted to say, but decided against it. 

“Have you seen Nurse Chapel?” he asked. 

Nyota gripped her mug a little tighter and shook her head. “No, not yet. And I don’t expect to, not until her sick leave is up.”

“She’ll take this hard, then,” he said softly.

Nyota bit her lip and nodded. “She was so humiliated. All this long time she’s tried so hard to respect Mr. Spock’s Vulcanness. She thinks the world of him, but ever since what happened on Psi 2000 she’s tried to keep a…a certain distance. And I think he really did respect her for that!”

“He does,” Captain Kirk murmured. “That hasn’t changed.”

“But now she’s going to be hating herself for what happened!”

He looked into his hot chocolate again and swirled it. “It wasn’t her fault. And it wasn’t yours, either.”

Nyota’s throat went tight. _Not my fault,_ she told herself. But her thoughts still went straight to that transfer form and, with a certain nasty treachery, began crafting a scenario where handing it in to him felt like driving a knife through her own heart. She shuddered and sprang to her feet, setting her mug down on the desk with an embarrassing clatter. Then she turned away. It hurt to put her back to him right at that moment, but the thought of leaving him hurt worse, far worse. 

“Uhura, I mean it,” he said gently. “You and Chapel weren’t to blame anymore than Spock and I were.”

“Oh, I know—I _know_ you weren’t!” she moaned, pressing her hands to her face. “And that’s not what’s bothering me, Captain…”

“Then what is?”

Nyota lifted her head but didn’t turn. Her eyes stung again; she swiped at them angrily, trying to compose herself. But before she dared to face him again she heard his footsteps cross the room, and suddenly felt him take her shoulders in his hands and turn her so that they faced each other, mere inches apart. 

“Tell me what’s troubling you,” he said, very gently. “The sooner we’re honest with each other about…about what happened…the easier it’ll be for both of us.”

“I-I know, sir. And I don’t blame you. But if my staying here compromises you…”

She broke off, too flustered to continue. Captain Kirk frowned.

“You’re concerned that the Platonians have ruined our…camaraderie,” he murmured. “That they’ve brought into our relationship a…a certain element that’ll make it too difficult to work together.”

It wasn’t a question. Nyota gulped. “Yes, sir.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “And what do you suggest we do about that?”

 _Here it comes._ “I…I could request a transfer. Sir.”

The captain stiffened. Nyota’s stomach churned. She lowered her head…until he lifted a hand from her shoulder and tilted her chin back. She had no choice but to look up at him. His expression, she saw, was surprisingly tender.

“Nyota,” he murmured—and she shivered at the sound of her name rolling off his tongue—“Nyota, it doesn’t matter if the Platonians have forced any attraction between us to the surface. If I can’t keep my head in the game while I’m on duty, then I don’t deserve to command you, let alone a ship with its fair share of female crew.”

She nodded in relief. “Okay…”

“But you should know…that I can no more change how I feel about you, in private, than I can ask a leopard to change its spots.”

She froze, not sure she’d heard right…and then her heart sped up a notch as he lifted his hand from her chin and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. Nyota shuddered and shut her eyes. He slipped his arms around her, drawing her closer until she had to put her hands on his chest. 

“When they beamed you and Christine down,” he went on, his voice much less steady now, “I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry. Certainly not since we were on Triskelion, and that…brute tried to put his hands on you. The very thought of anyone manipulating you or torturing you…”

 _You, you, YOU._ He wasn’t talking about the crew in general—he was talking about _her_ , just _her_. Nyota opened her eyes and looked squarely at him. 

“They didn’t hurt me,” she whispered. “And I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t afraid…at least, not of you.” 

“And are you afraid now?” he murmured. 

She shook her head. “Not of you. I’ll never be afraid of you.”

He smiled, rested his forehead against hers. She felt his heart beating quick and strong against her palms and wanted to throw her arms around his neck and hug him as tight as she could without strangling him. She’d felt so safe in a long time…so _loved_ —

The spell broke. Her eyes flew open and she jerked away from him. Startled, Jim tried to keep her close but she pressed her hands hard against his chest. She couldn’t love her captain, couldn’t let him love _her_. It was against regulations, not to mention naked reason. 

“We can’t do this, Captain,” she said, her voice shaking. “If Starfleet were to find out—”

“I know, I know,” he soothed. He held on to her arms just above her elbows and kept his eyes locked on hers, willing her to listen. “And don’t think I haven’t thought about it, too—long and hard. The whole reason I’ve kept you at arm’s length all this long time is because I couldn’t let some…cold-blooded bureaucrat tear you away from me at the slightest hint of impropriety.”

“You’ve _never_ treated me with any kind of impropriety, sir, I know that—”

“But others don’t.” Captain Kirk smiled sadly, and more than a little self-condemningly. “It’s my own fault, you know. I’ve built a reputation for myself with the fairer sex—which is helpful, I suppose, when you’re dealing with alien females who start out less-than-friendly. But Starfleet wouldn’t be shocked if I pulled something with my communications officer. They’d have you transferred in the blink of an eye, Nyota…and I _can’t_ let that happen. You know me better than anyone else on that bridge besides Spock and McCoy. You’re the glue that keeps us all together and I can’t…lose you…”

He removed his hands from her elbows, sliding them along her arms until he caught her fingers. Nyota let him draw her as close to him as he could without actually taking her into his arms.

“We have a little over a year left until we return to Earth,” he murmured, rubbing circles over the tops of her hands with his thumbs. “That’s a long time, when you think about it…more than long enough for Starfleet to do something about it, if they ever found out. But while I’m not usually one for skulking around and carrying on secret love affairs like some twenty-third century Romeo, I’d be more than willing to…pursue this, if _you_ are.”

Nyota smiled at the Shakespearean reference. “Well…I promise not to fake my death like a twenty-third century Juliet.”

He raised his eyebrows hopefully. “Is that a ‘yes?’ ” 

Nyota hesitated only a moment. She looked him straight in the eye and squeezed his hands as hard as she could. 

“I love you,” she whispered. “I always have…always will. You’re my knight in shining armor and…” She swallowed again, this time to get a fast-growing lump out of her throat, and dropped her gaze to their clasped hands. “You need to know that before you move forward, because if the Platonians _did_ take an inventory of my heart today, they found enough evidence there of a ‘deep, suppressed bond’ to fill a small library.” 

She lifted her eyes warily and found him simply staring at her. Her heart started to sink. Maybe he hadn’t expected that much of a confession. He’d admitted he had feelings for her, of course…but he’d never actually said he _loved_ her. Maybe he didn’t love her in that way after all. Maybe he only meant—

Nyota opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say a word he bent low and caught her lips in the fiercest kiss she’d ever known. And it was nothing like the kiss on Platonius. This was _real_ , he _meant_ it this time, he _wanted_ it…because he _loved_ her. 

When he finally pulled away, Nyota opened her eyes slowly and found herself looking up into the flushed face of a fiercely handsome, triumphant young captain. That smile of his was bright enough to power a couple of warp engines. 

“Knight in shining armor, hmm?” he asked with a ragged laugh. 

“Absolutely,” she whispered. “Do _you_ love me, Jim?” 

“Absolutely,” he murmured, and covered the radiant smile she gave him with another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *a reference to my story "Patchwork Memories," where Kirk promises not to tell anybody that Uhura had gone to him for comfort in the middle of the night. She, in turn, promises to keep a secret of his in "The Wonderful Thing About Tribbles."


	5. Logical Confessions

Considerably more at peace with himself and the world than he had been last night, Spock made his way straight to Sickbay as soon as the morning shift began. Dr. McCoy looked up at him in surprise as he walked in and half-rose from behind his desk. 

“Mornin’, Spock. What are you doin’ here? I told you last night you didn’t need another injection.” 

“I am well aware of that, Doctor,” Spock said calmly, though his heart beat at an unreasonably quick pace. “I wish to speak with Nurse Chapel before I report to the bridge. If she is not available or is still confining herself to her cabin—”

He bristled—knowing good and well that he had absolutely no reason to—at the way the doctor’s eyebrows shot up and the way his weathered face lit up in delighted relief.

“Well, I’ll be darned,” Dr. McCoy murmured.

Spock drew himself up to his full height. “Doctor, your euphemisms for human curses never cease to bewilder me—”

“Oh, go get yourself a sense of humor,” McCoy retorted, but a chuckle softened his usual withering sarcasm. “She just came in, said she couldn’t stand to go the whole duration of her sick leave. I’ve got her in the lab putting together some immunizations. Go right on in, make yourself at home, and for God’s sake, Spock…”

Spock stopped, halfway to the laboratory door, and raised a questioning eyebrow. McCoy did not continue with his thought: he exhaled, smiled ruefully, and waved a hand. 

“Never mind. Just don’t say anything stupid.”

Spock raised his other eyebrow. “It is never my intention to do so.”

McCoy looked as if he wanted to argue on that point, but thought better of it. Spock strode into the laboratory without another word, too busy reminding himself of what Jim said to him last night to spar further with the doctor. 

_“I need you to let her know you don’t think any the less of her. Her self-esteem where you’re concerned isn’t the strongest. Just a simple word from you would do wonders…”_

Christine Chapel stood at one of the lab counters with her back to the door, loading a series of hypos. At the sound of the door opening she lifted her head and glanced over her shoulder. She almost dropped the hypo in her hand as she whirled to face him.

“Mr. Spock!” she gasped. Her deep voice sounded hoarse, most likely from the amount of crying he suspected she indulged in yesterday. Spock felt a twinge of something he couldn’t identify at the thought and inclined his head respectfully. 

“Nurse Chapel.” 

Christine swallowed, set the hypo aside, laced her fingers in front of her. “I suppose you want to discuss what happened yesterday, sir—and I want you to know that I am…so terribly, _terribly_ sorry. Maybe if I’d done a better job of…of not thinking about us, they wouldn’t have—”

"The fault was not yours, Nurse,” Spock interrupted. “I do not blame you in the slightest. To do so would be wrong…even more so when one takes into account the fact that your thoughts were not the only ones being examined.”

Christine looked as if all the breath had been knocked out of her lungs: her lips parted and she blinked rapidly before dropping her gaze altogether. Concerned that she might embarrass them both with an emotional release of tears, Spock decided it best to keep talking. He also took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them by two-point-four feet. 

“I assure you, yesterday’s events have not changed my deep respect for you. And I acknowledge that I wronged you by not addressing the situation with you more promptly.”

Christine lifted her head in surprise. “Is that an apology, Mr. Spock?”

“It was meant as such.” 

She tried to laugh, but the sound disintegrated and she lowered her eyes again, hastily, to her clasped hands. He saw that her fingers were so tightly interwoven, her knuckles had whitened. He took another two steps forward. 

“I find it most probable that the captain and Lieutenant Uhura have already resolved the issue to their mutual satisfaction. By inexcusable contrast, I was remiss as your superior officer and as your friend for not initiating proper communication within hours of our return to the Enterprise.”

Christine said nothing for a moment. Her posture indicated she had more to say, but couldn’t find the proper words. Spock waited patiently until she did find them, but when she spoke, they were not what he expected.

“We’re not like them, are we?” she asked softly.

Spock frowned. “Who?”

“The captain and Ny—I mean, Lieutenant Uhura.”

Spock raised his eyebrows, analyzing the statement. “They are far more similar than you and I are, that is certain. They have the advantage of both being human. Both possess intuitive and affectionate personalities—”

“ _And_ they love each other, Mr. Spock.” 

Spock froze. “Love?”

“Yes, Mr. Spock— _love_.” Christine tilted her head to one side and smiled a sad, strangely sweet smile. “Haven’t you ever seen the way they look at each other on the bridge? It didn’t shock me at all that Parmen and Philana paired them—and it doesn’t shock me if they’ve…how did you put it…‘resolved the issue to their mutual satisfaction.’ I’m quite sure they have, and it’ll be beautiful to watch it unfold. You and I, though…you’ll compartmentalize what happened into some little box in that wonderful, logical mind of yours, and I’ll move on, pretending it didn’t happen and forcing myself not to relive it every time I find myself lying awake at night.” 

She never raised her voice, never let even a trace of bitterness edge its way into her tone. For a moment he could think of no logical response. She knew him too well. He did tend to reduce emotionally-charged incidents down to bare, soulless elements. Often, it was the only way he knew how to process them without falling back on the human impulses still tracing through his Vulcan DNA.

_But this is not like Deneva, where I could control and contain my own emotions without contaminating anyone else. In this case, my emotions are too interwoven with those of another thinking, feeling being. I cannot dismiss them outright…cannot suppress them…_

_Cannot act as though they do not exist._

“Pretending it did not happen,” he began slowly, carefully, “is not the Vulcan way—nor, I believe, is it the right way. To borrow one of Dr. McCoy’s metaphors, these wounds must not be allowed to fester. They must be tended to. If I have led you to believe that complete indifference is the Vulcan way, I again apologize.” 

“I thought pain doesn’t exist for you.”

“No…pain _does_ exist. But we do not let it control us. Rather, we train our minds to control it. In the same way, you and I must train ourselves to take this experience and learn from it. We must not ‘compartmentalize it,’ as you say, but use it to our advantage.”

Christine leaned against the edge of the counter and folded her arms over her chest. “How?”

To his everlasting horror, Spock felt his heart rate increase exponentially. This was not how he had expected this meeting to unfold—and yet here he was, about to go above and beyond Jim’s advice from last night. 

_But it is the right thing to do. You are not dealing simply with her fragile emotions._

_You are dealing with your own nature. Vulcan soul and human heart._

“I believe,” he said, his voice sounding rough and unstable in his own ears, “that I should start by telling you that the experience forced me to acknowledge certain…strong emotions. Emotions I had refused to examine before, because I did not _want_ to admit they existed.”

Christine stared at him. “ _Emotions_ , Mr. Spock?”

“That was the word I chose.”

She tilted her head incredulously. “You don’t choose words like that lightly.”

“No,” he said, taking courage from the fact that he was, at least, being completely honest with her. “Nor would I acknowledge these feelings openly to anyone but the individual who inspired them.”

Christine opened her mouth, shut it, opened it again. She turned very red. “Oh…”

Spock said nothing and let her compose herself in silence. She brought a hand to her face and then lowered it to her chest. She seemed to be trying to breathe normally. She turned away from him a little and gripped the edge of the counter. 

“Somehow,” she said, shakily, “I still don’t think you’re about to suggest that we follow the captain and Lieutenant Uhura’s ‘most probable’ course of action.”

Spock sighed and clasped his hands behind his back. “As I said, the captain and the lieutenant have considerable basis for a possible, albeit clandestine romance. As _you_ said, they already…love each other. For them to take their relationship further would not be surprising to either their friends or to their culture. If you and I are to do the same, though…”

Christine looked sharply at him. Spock braced himself as his heart rate skyrocketed again.

“If you and I are to do the same,” he repeated, slowly, “then you must be well-aware of what such an adjustment would require of you. My own mother will tell you that it is not easy to assimilate into the Vulcan culture, nor is it easy to…love a Vulcan.”

“Oh, you’re kidding.”

Full-blooded Vulcans would have been horrified by the sudden twitch of Spock’s mouth and the undeniably amused way in which he lifted one eyebrow. Christine’s own deadpan expression shifted and crumbled as she pursed her lips together to keep back a smile of her own. 

“Sorry,” she said, waving her hand in front of her face. “I couldn’t resist.”

He shook his head. “I take no offense. Thanks to Dr. McCoy, I am familiar with the human penchant for wry humor.”

She did smile at that. “You use it to pretty good effect yourself, you know.” She sighed, grew serious again. “I’m not afraid of Vulcan culture or expectations, Mr. Spock. In fact, sometimes I like to think I’d fit right in—and maybe that’s just some arrogant, over-emotional little voice in the back of my head, trying to convince me that I could adapt to any situation as long as…”

 _As long as you were there._ She didn’t say it outright, but Spock saw the rest of her sentence in the way her face flushed a deep rosy color and the way she stopped short and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

“But the last thing I want to do,” she finally went on, “is to forget that you’re as much a Vulcan are you are a human. If I could go back in time and change things so that you _weren’t_ so painfully aware of the way I’ve always felt about you, I would.”

“And were you given that opportunity,” Spock replied, “I would rather you did not take it.” 

For the third time since he entered the room, she stared at him like she didn’t know who he was or what he had done with the Enterprise’s First Officer. His throat felt very dry, and there was nothing to blame for that but an uncontrolled rush of human emotion he could barely control. But he took that final step forward, remembering Jim’s pointed question from last night. 

_“It wouldn’t be the end of the world if you admitted you…appreciate her. Don’t you?”_

He touched her hand very lightly. Christine’s eyes widened and he heard her breath catch.

“You have not asked me to change my nature. I do not ask you to change yours.” He paused, and then, with just a hint of a wry smile in his dark eyes, added in a low voice, “As I believe I told you once before, it would be illogical for us both to protest against our natures…don’t you think?”

THE END


End file.
